Gather Ye Rosebuds
by Butterflygirl113
Summary: Still mourning Kochanski's loss, Lister is confronted unexpectedly by the woman he thought had died.


It had been a few hours since Kryten had come into his room on Starbug, wringing his hands and blubbering incoherently about something that Lister could only assume was an apology. When he had managed to calm the mechanoid down, his confession was like a garbage cannon shot to the gut. Not really dead. Just a few hours away. And he was _so _sorry, sir, but he just couldn't stand by and watch her break his heart….

The self-abasing apologies came in a torrent, but all Lister heard was white noise as his world simultaneously fell apart and fell together. Krissy…. Krissy was alive….

Somewhere in the buzz of sobbing sound, Kryten had promised to bring him a midday snack and let him rest until they got her back on board before disassembling himself at the nearest convenient opportunity. The words barely registered, washing over his head and out into oblivion, as one thought ran through his mind.

Krissy was alive.

Hours passed like minutes, and Lister was too absorbed in his stupor to even realize that they had. If he'd noticed, he would have sprung from his seat and joined the others in the cockpit, spearheading the rescue mission to finally bring the woman he loved back on board. But the shock of having someone you love die, grieving their loss, and years later being told that they weren't really dead and were coming back again that day froze his mind. It was too wonderful and impossible, and somewhere in the back of his thoughts he wondered if this wasn't all a sick joke or a twisted mistake.

Krissy was dead…. Had been for years…. You don't survive something like that.

But here she was, leaning uncertainly against the door-frame, a timid, silent apology shining from her eyes, pleading for forgiveness. His beautiful Krissy….

She broke away from the doorway and sauntered slowly over to him, stopping a few feet away and wrapping her arms protectively around herself. He sat frozen to his spot on the bed, staring at her as though she wasn't real. As though she was another manifestation of mutated pneumonia, a sick prank, the trick of a psiren…. Anything but the woman he thought he saw and so desperately wanted to believe was there. She bit her lip and spoke.

"So…. Kryten told you."

The sound cut the silence. It was jarring and almost offensively familiar. He blinked.

"Right," she chuckled nervously. "I suppose he must have. I did ask him to, after all. I thought it might… weaken the blow a bit…. No matter how much he doesn't like me, he _does_ care about you…."

Lister blinked again and swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on the mattress. He tried to find his voice, only to hear it come out in a croak.

"He…. Yeah. Why… why'd ya do it?"

She had the good grace to appear embarrassed and reluctant, apologetic gaze sweeping to the floor.

"I… guess I got a little stir crazy, stuck in this tiny ship with the same people. I thought…. Maybe if I took a Blue Midget I could hunt down a dimensional tear and…."

"Return to your Lister," Dave finished in a monotone.

It was calm and accusing. She winced, then nodded.

"Yes."

He looked away, a tight, accepting frown on his face. The hum of the ship resonated through the air, and the rattling and ra-tutting of the nearby room could be faintly heard in the silence. Lister sighed, sadness replacing the hint of anger.

"Then why are you here?"

Kochanski moved to sit down beside him, the mattress sinking a bit under her added weight, and he tensed. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder that he didn't want to respond to, but found, to his shame, that he couldn't help it. This was Krissy, the woman he loved. Some part of him was always going to find peace in her touch.

"It's because you couldn't find him, isn't it?" he accused, before she could speak.

The hand squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Look, if that's all it is, jus' tell me so I can go back about me life an' not think there's somethin' else. It doesn't matter; I understand…."

"Dave…."

The tone of her voice stopped his rant. It was soft and apologetic, filled with a sad affection and the smallest hint of amusement. It drew his face upward to look at her against his will, and he found himself hypnotized by her eyes.

"That's not it. Yes, for the first few weeks I did look for my Dave. I thought that returning to the world I used to know would magically make all of my problems disappear, but as time went on I realized that that world had moved on without me, and that I had a new world now. I realized that the more I thought about 'Dave,' it wasn't the hologram Dave's image I got. So I had to come back and… apologize. I really am _so_ sorry, Lister."

He nodded, unsure of what to do.

"Hey, look…. Apology accepted…. I've got to go take over from Cat now, but I'll see ya around…."

Her manicured hand dropped to his wrist to stop him, the other rising to softly caress his cheek. His eyes fell closed, savoring the sensation he'd missed for so long. The fingers trailed across his lips, and he breathed in a tiny gasp before running his own along her jaw line.

God, she was so soft, and she was really here. Really alive. Really Krissy.

He pulled her close to him and kissed her, and something hurt deep in his chest as he fought the urge to sob. Instead, he tangled his fingers in her hair, drawing her as close to him as he could manage, as his body shook with silent cries of _"Too long"_ and _"Oh, thank God, yes…."_ One hand roamed down her back, and she let it, caressing the soft cotton material over the spine and shoulder blades that he hadn't quite forgotten, yet now felt so _real_. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, and he had to break the kiss to sob silently, his chest and shoulders shaking.

For a brief, terrified moment he feared he'd done something horrible and ruined the atmosphere, any chance of repeating whatever this was flying right out of the airlock, but his worries were allayed by her comforting hand on his arm and her head on his chest, and his sniffles increased. She held him through his bout of emotion and drew aimless, soothing circles on his thigh, and he calmed, holding her tight as though he'd never let her go again.

… God, he hated waking up. 

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Title from the Robert Herrick poem. Forgive me if Kochanski sounds nothing like she's supposed to; I can't pick up her voice as easily as the others. Also, I've noticed I tend to picture Lister post-season eight as much more tired and depressed, finally aging and feeling it hard. I guess this fits right in. Comments? Suggestions? Both are loved! :)


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